


Everclear

by coolasdicks



Series: Too Rough!Verse [5]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Poisoning, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Michael is dumb with drinking we know this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3273416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolasdicks/pseuds/coolasdicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavin creates the monstrosity bet where you numb your throat with the spray for deep throating aid and down Everclear. Michael takes the challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everclear

**Author's Note:**

> don’t fuck with alcohol kids

Before it took place, Gavin crowned the challenge as the best yet.  


A gag gift from Spencers spawned the idea. The gift, wrapped in crumpled newspaper, appeared innocent unless the label was carefully read: _Comfortably Numb, Deep Throat Spray_. Small and green, the bottle could’ve easily passed as a sore throat soother. When Ray had first opened it, he’d assumed just that.

Snickering and slightly grossed out by his own purchase, Gavin corrected him and immediately began to persuade someone into testing it out.

“I’m not asking for a bloody blowjob!” Gavin cried to the office at large, holding the bottle up as if attending an auction, “I just want someone to try it.”

Geoff silently shook his head, face red with suppressed laughter.

“Ray, it’s your present,” Ryan said reasonably.

“That doesn’t mean I’m gonna fucking deep throat one of you assholes,” Ray snorted. After a beat, he added, “At least – not at work. Talk to me after hours.”

A chuckle passed around the room.

“Well someone has to try it,” Gavin said stubbornly, holding up the spray bottle.

“No one fucking told you to buy it,” Geoff pointed out.

“No, but…” Gavin paused, searching for an adequate rebuttal. “Someone needs to do it!”

Michael scoffed. “Then why don’t you do it? With your fucking gag reflex, it’d be more entertaining.”

Gavin’s mouth twisted in disgust. “The spray would make me throw up immediately, it’d be no good with me.”

Michael rolled his eyes. Turning the conversation over in his mind, Michael reached for the Redbull on his desk and took a large swig. When he put the can down, Gavin’s eyes had widened, and the talking had faded. “What.”

“I just had the most amazing idea,” Gavin said before launching from his chair – and then, the room. He was back surprisingly fast, clutching in his fist the neck of a large Everclear bottle. Geoff was quick to sniff out the bad idea.

“Gavin, whatever the hell you’re planning to do with that, you can put it right back,” he said, instantly shutting him down.

“No, no, Geoff – hear me out,” Gavin said excitedly, planting the bottle down on his desk. The wood rattled with the force. The _Comfortably Numb_ was still in his other hand and Michael broke out into a grin, anticipating Gavin’s idea. “Everclear is literal _fire_ going down, innit? Well, use this and it goes down without a problem!”

“Yeah, except a burning anus,” Ryan said, eyebrow cocked. He turned around fully in his chair, large arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t seem impressed by Gavin’s proposal. Michael, however, was amused and slightly curious. “No one is going to agree to that, Gavin.”

Gavin’s lower lip pushed out in a pout.

“It’s what – 190 proof?” Jack said disbelievingly. “A fan on the site sent us that?”

“Is it legal?” Ray wondered.

“It’s legal _now_ ,” Geoff said. “It was banned from the US for a while.”

“Christ,” Gavin muttered, looking at the seemingly innocent bottle. The liquid inside was clear and utterly unassuming. It could’ve easily passed for water. Gavin wordlessly filed it away for a possible prank in the future.

“Still think it’s a good idea?” Ryan said.

Gavin side-eyed the bottle. “I think it’d make a good video,” he said evenly.

Geoff laughed and turned back to his computer. “No one is going to agree to do that, Gav.”

\---

Several days later, Michael agreed to do that.

He would’ve liked to claim that Gavin took advantage of the stupor he was already drinking himself into. That was not the case. Michael possessed an unnervingly high alcohol tolerance. When Gavin found him, he’d had a fair number of shots, but his judgment hadn’t been impaired when he took the _Comfortably Numb_ and Everclear bottles out of Gavin’s hands.

Gavin vibrated with excitement as Michael detached from the main floor. The company party was, as always, packed and vigorous – swarming with different brands of beverages and conversation. People parted for the small train he led to the kitchen counter. Behind Gavin trailed Miles and Lindsay.

“All right,” Michael announced loudly, slamming the Everclear bottle down. “How much – How much are you payin’ for this, Gavvers? I ain’t doing this shit for free, I’m not – I don’t care that we’ve kissed, I still demand payment for my services.”

Gavin cracked a rather embarrassed grin as Lindsay and Miles burst into raucous, drunk laughter.

“Two hundred and we film it?” Gavin offered. Michael nodded.

“Deal.”

The seal on the bottle had been previously broken by Geoff to curiously sniff the liquid. Michael hadn’t gotten a whiff, but he remembered Geoff’s immediate recoil. He was careful to keep the alcohol away from his nose as he poured a full shot.

“Ugh,” Michael grunted, looking at the Deep Throat spray.

“I bet that tastes gross,” Miles commented.

“Yeah, no shit,” Michael retorted, twisting the top so it was ready.

Alcohol bumped his courage notches higher, and it was relatively painless to hold the nozzle in his mouth and thickly coated his mouth, throat, and tongue.

A strong tingle of discomfort crawled down the back of his throat. Gagging slightly, Michael coughed and sputtered, grimacing at the spreading numbness. His lips were sticky and slow, tongue thick at the bottom of his mouth.

Gavin laughed gleefully at the obvious disgust in Michael’s expression. “Gross!” he said happily, pointing at Michael.

Grinning and elbowing his friend, Michael didn’t hesitate to down the shot in one, fluid motion.

It felt like… nothing.

Low in his stomach – empty because he’d skipped lunch – a burning sensation churned, but his taste buds were spared the heavy concentration of alcohol. Smacking his lips in surprise, Michael grinned sloppily at Gavin.

“Wow,” Gavin said blankly, looking equal parts impressed and concerned. “How did you –”

A new face seemed to materialize over Gavin’s shoulder, startling the Brit into a yell. Ryan grinned at the response but his clear eyes quickly honed in on Michael’s inebriated, hazy gaze and the bottle of _Comfortably Numb_ on the kitchen counter. Miles and Lindsay were quick to disappear.

“I was going to ask what you two were up to, and if you wanted to have a drink together, but I suddenly got the feeling you won’t be much conversation,” Ryan said, a frown creeping over his lips. Michael could see the moment his eyes went from the Deep Throat aid to the Everclear. The blue shade sharpened into hard ice.

“You didn’t just take a shot of that, did you?” he asked, voice light and calm.

“You should’ve seen it, Rye-Bread,” Michael said patting Ryan’s muscular shoulder. He didn’t detect the danger that Gavin obviously did, as the Brit was already beginning to back away. “It went down without a hitch.”

“You aren’t supposed to –”

“Yeah, that’s why we got this,” Michael said, grabbing at the _Comfortably Numb_ and immediately dropping it. He bent to pick it up and swayed. Ryan steadied him by the waist. “Woah, Rye-Bread,” Michael slurred once he’d straightened.

Ryan pursed his lips. “Do not take any more shots of that,” he said firmly.

“One might’ve already done it,” Gavin waved off, studying Michael. The redhead stared back at him blankly, eyes fogged over with a pleasant buzz. Gavin smiled. “Yeah, he’s fine.”

Whether or not Ryan believed him, Michael wasn’t sure. Ryan stuck with them, however, though he eased off the Everclear issue and hung around simply for the company. Michael sidled up to him more than once on the couch, but manic energy kept Michael continuously bouncing around the room. Ryan stopped following him after a while, too exhausted by the seemingly endless energy.

And when the first shot _really_ sunk in, Michael had already taken seven more.

It happened the moment he stood from where he’d been cross-legged on the floor, next to Lindsay, who was on her belly with a blanket wrapped tightly around her head and shoulder. Michael had been humoring her – patting her back, massaging her neck, playing with her hair, the works. When he stood up to fetch another drink, however, a head rush pushed him right back on his ass.

Lindsay glanced up at him, green eyes sparkling in the low lighting. “Did’yew jus’ fall?” she mumbled into the blanket.

“Uh,” Michael said dumbly, scrubbing his face. A spot deep in his brain began to throb and his stomach knotted in nausea. Breathless with the sudden sensation of being windswept for a full, apprehensive two minutes, Michael could do nothing but try to still his spinning head.

When it became clear it was due to his alcohol consumption – and, therefore, wouldn’t stop until he had a night’s sleep – Michael looked up from his hands. Lindsay had sat up and dropped the blanket, legitimate concern making Michael’s nerves jump. Worry had sobered her and caused him to wonder if something was seriously wrong.

“You okay?” she asked slowly, shuffling closer on her knees.

“Just feel a little dizzy,” Michael said honestly, holding fingers to the bridge of his nose, as if that would alleviate the abrupt headache.

Her cool hand slid into place on his forehead. A witty snap was on his tongue – still slightly numb from the spray – but he was too slow to manage it before Lindsay spoke. “You suddenly went really pale,” she told him. “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick?”

Michael blinked slowly. His brain tripped over itself as he tried for a response. “I, uh, what? I feel dizzy, but I’m good.”

“Sit down for a second,” Lindsay insisted, pushing him down with a palm to the chest.

The drunk-happy emotion had been swept away with the vertigo, leaving an uncomfortable sense of realization. His regret didn’t only concern playing into Gavin’s idiotic bet, but also drinking on an empty stomach.

Head heavy, Michael sloppily pushed Lindsay away from him and stumbled to his feet. He could barely stand.

Later, he wouldn’t remember that his vision darkened. He wouldn’t remember much of voices asking him questions, a hand brushing his sweaty hair back from his forehead as he pitched over a toilet bowl, a car rocking under his shoulders.

The experience at the hospital, however, was unforgettable.

\---

Geoff arrived at the party fifteen minutes before it ended.

He was there to pick up a drunk Gavin, if he was interpreting the corrupted babble on the phone correctly. While he’d been invited to the get-together, Geoff had elected to instead stay home and nurse his conflicting feelings with a heavy glass of booze.

But now wasn’t the time to fret over his unethical emotions towards his employees, so when Geoff pulled up to the party and opened the door, he did it with a clear head and small smile.

Inside the house was crowded and hot. A hot aroma of cheese and beer blasted Geoff in the face immediately – a familiar scent, really. Warm bodies collided and glided room to room, restless and vibrating. There was no music to provide a steady beat, but the rhythm of chatter and footsteps were in sync anyway.

Geoff weaved through the crowd, greeting and smiling at people whom he recognized. A beer ended up in his hand but he quickly passed it onto someone else, unwilling to get stuck in the party glue. He moved fast.

He made three rounds through the house. Still no Gavin.

“Anyone seen Gav?” Geoff started asking. Shakes of the head, frowns, verbal negatives – no Gavin.

“Geoff!” a voice called through the many voices. Looking around, Geoff spotted Ryan physically _shoving_ people out of the way in order to reach him. Alarmed at the idea of drunk-Ryan being violent or unreasonably angry, Geoff stiffened.

“Have you been–?”

“Please, I’ve been sipping this for the past hour,” Ryan said bitingly and held up a diet coke. “I’m as sober as Ray.”

“Ray’s here?”

Ryan cringed.

“What’s that face?” Geoff demanded, chilled at sudden concern for the youngest member of AH. “He’s not – no one’s forcing him–”

“No, no,” Ryan said quickly. “The face was for something else. What’re the symptoms of overdrinking?”

Geoff forced down his answer of, _Why are you asking me?_ but only because Ryan seemed genuinely freaked. “Who overdrank?”

Ryan looked away, pretending to be interested in Brandon and Chris racing towards the makeshift buffet table. Geoff’s eyes narrowed.

“The shifty eyes–” Geoff commented just as Ryan took his hand and led him further into the house, where less people dwelled. The quieter his surroundings became, the more anxious Geoff grew.

Ryan let go of his hand hastily and wiped them on his jeans.

“C’mon, my hands aren’t that gross,” Geoff teased weakly. Then Ryan looked him in the eye. The fear bubbling viscous and cold made Geoff’s smile fall off the map. “What’s wrong? Is someone passed out and not waking up? That’s when you should worry.”

“He’s not passed out,” Ryan said, a modicum of relief softening his face. “Good, okay. Then I shouldn’t call 9-1-1?”

“Why would you in the first place?” Geoff said, baffled. “If you’re – if you’re worried, you should call, just to make sure. They can tell you what to look for. Who is it?”

“Uh – Michael, he drank… a lot, and now Ray is having to babysit him while he tries to choke up the last few inches of his stomach.”

Geoff’s heart dropped. “What? He knows how to handle his alcohol, are you sure it wasn’t something he ate?”

“It wasn’t something he ate because he hasn’t eaten.”

“Drinking on an empty stomach,” Geoff drawled sourly. That was an amateur decision, one Geoff continued to make even in his aging. It was a rare lapse in judgment. “Well, if he’s just puking–”

“Here, can you just–” Ryan blurted, frowning. “Can you just come check on him? I mean you’re looking for Gavin, right? He’s trying to apologize, albeit incoherently.”

“Also drunk?” Geoff guessed.

Ryan’s raised eyebrow was good an answer as any.

\---

When Geoff had last seen Michael, the redhead had been tired and leaving work to go home. His brown eyes had been puffy from rubbing and itching, bottom lip red from near constant nibbling. It’d been infuriating and charming and ridiculously unfair.

Looking at Michael now, however… charming was not within fifty miles.

He seemed to be partially comatose, slumped in the space between the toilet and the wall. Sitting next to him and missing his glasses, Ray pushed the matted, damp curls away from Michael’s face.

“Christ,” Geoff breathed and stopped dead in the doorway. “He looks bad.”

Gavin, who was perched snugly in the sink, scrambled up. While it was clear he’d drunk himself into oblivion as well, a shot of pure adrenaline had worked the alcohol out of his system enough for concern to emerge. His eyebrows were knit together.

“Are you – we gonna get his stomach done?” Gavin asked upon setting eyes on Geoff.

“Stomach done?” Geoff repeated, before realizing what Gavin meant. Geoff’s own stomach turned over. Whether it was a reaction to Gavin’s raw worry or a sympathetic response to the suggestion, Geoff wasn’t certain. “Pumped?”

“He threw up a ton of clear liquid and now he’s bloody freezing,” Gavin said.

Geoff clenched his jaw, meeting Gavin’s eyes for a long moment before looking to Ray. While he didn’t anticipate reassurance, the desperation and fear etched deep and black in Ray’s expression shocked Geoff.

It was a situation in which Geoff wasn’t expected to be the boss. The leader, the man in charge. He was responsible for these men during hours, not outside of work. The exception, perhaps, was Gavin, but even then Geoff didn’t try to be a guardian or father. That would make his daydreams creepy and perverted at best.

But looking at Michael, the bad feeling Geoff had been nursing since running into Ryan blossomed into full-blown paranoia and terror.

“Unless you plan on helping me get him up and in the car, Gavin, please go wait in the hallway. Keep people out,” Geoff said, pushing the emotion from his voice. Gavin hesitated for only a moment before hurrying out of the small room.

It smelled… surprisingly clean. Like cleaning supplies or nail polish. The floor was dry and tiled, toilet bowl unblemished. Nothing like the product of a heavy night of drinking aside from Michael’s demeanor.

Ray didn’t scoot away from Michael, even as Geoff nearly crushed him into the wall. “Hey, buddy,” Geoff said gently, shaking Michael’s shoulder. The skin underneath was chilled and clammy. “Michael.”

“Hmm,” Michael hummed into the plaster, chest rising and falling irregularly. His head lolled onto the other shoulder and Geoff got the first good look at his face.

Michael was porcelain on a good day, pale on others. His freckles weren’t dark, but against the ivory base, they were like sprinkles of coffee grounds on a ceramic plate. A rosy hue often curled around the apples of his cheekbones, spreading across the bridge of his nose the rare instances he became truly embarrassed. He had a healthy face.

Now, he was downright translucent. Blue veins and green undertones outlined the rarely seen stress lines Michael possessed. They only appeared during allergy season, when his eyes would water and overflow, or during a Hell Day at work, when he would rough up his hair until it could be called an afro.

But even then, when Michael’s fingers would tap and leg jiggle incessantly, his eyes wouldn’t become so bloodshot they were all pink. They wouldn’t become half-lidded and unfocused with the poison causing his system to shut down.

“Michael, buddy, we’re taking you to the hospital,” Geoff said as a simple precursor before worming an arm under Michael’s ass. Ray moved out of the way with a grunt while Geoff worked Michael out from the tight space.

“Hosp’l,” Michael murmured into Geoff’s shoulder, breath hot and wet. It smelled like nail polish, too.

“Yeah, a hospital,” Geoff said in a sickly calming voice. Drunk people were hard to soothe but alcohol poisoning required patience of another tier, especially when the person was stubborn.

There was no protest in Michael, however, even as Geoff gently pulled him from the small space. Geoff’s back wasn’t strong enough to lift Michael completely, not at this angle, so he propped Michael against his chest and crouched on the floor.

“How much did you drink?” Geoff asked with slight nonbelief. “Michael, how much–”

“S… seven shots?” Michael said with a strong slur. He could barely keep open his eyes, but Geoff could tell he was trying.

“Of strong liquor,” added Ryan, who was serious and quiet in the doorframe. His arms were crossed tightly, nose pinched.

“Do you know what it was? They’ll want to know when we take him in,” Geoff said.

“You’re taking him to Emergency Care?” Gavin asked, twisting his hands together.

“It’s better than leaving him alone,” Geoff said, pulling Michael up strenuously, panting with the dead weight until Ryan swooped under Michael’s other arm and took half the load. “I don’t know what they’ll do for him, but I’ve seen a lot of bad shit at bars and the army, when they just leave unconscious people face down in their own piss and vomit.”

“Are you sure he can’t just sleep it off?” Ray asked fairly. “He’ll be pissed in the morning if we take him in, waste all that money, and prick him like a pincushion just to be told he’s a little dehydrated.”

“If you think this is just dehydration–” Geoff said, clipped, gesturing at Michael’s sneaker-clad feet, how they dragged on the floor. “Then let’s just take him to a bed and leave a cup of water on the bedside.”

“I’m just saying that he’s going to be livid,” Ray said, turning around and raising his hands.

“Are you coming with?” Geoff called after him, moving slow with Michael between him and Ryan.

“I’ll be in the car,” Ray said, muffled through the wall as he quickly left the house.

“Hospital, right?” Geoff asked Ryan, glancing sideways at the man.

“It’s the right decision,” Ryan agreed instantly. “You should know – it was the dumb bet with Everclear.” Ryan paused as they moved through the doorway. Glanced at Geoff. “You don’t seem very surprised – or angry.”

“I recognized the smell of it on his breath,” Geoff said grimly. “Pure ethanol.”

Ryan didn’t correct his false statement. He was too intent on preventing Michael’s head from hitting him in the jaw. “Michael?” he ventured, tapping the redhead gently on the cheek.

Michael mumbled nonsensically and they quickly fled from the bathroom.

While they were questioned by many, no one stopped them as they exited the house and trudged down the driveway. The street was lined with parked cars, Geoff’s nearly a block away. Gavin followed after them, chittering nervously into a phone.

“Who the hell are you talking to?” Ray demanded, holding open the car door as Ryan and Geoff struggled to get Michael seated.

“Well, I figured Jack would want to know,” Gavin hissed away from the mouthpiece.

“Why would Jack – why are you calling Jack?” Geoff said. Asking why Jack would care sounded callous; however, he couldn’t help but wonder why Jack was in Michael’s immediate circle.

“He’s been freakin’ sleeping with the guy, I figured – I meant – no,” Gavin stammered before starting over completely. “He’s been staying with Jack for the last month or so. I figured Jack would want to know.”

Ignoring the strange hop of his heart, Geoff waited until Michael was secure in his seatbelt as minimally passable before answering. “He’s been _what_ with Jack?”

“Staying with,” Ray said quickly, cutting off Gavin’s far more lewd answer.

“Is something wrong with Michael’s apartment?”

“Not that I know of,” Gavin shrugged, pocketing his phone. “Jack said he’s coming.”

“He’s _coming_? To the hospital?”

“Well I don’t think he meant–”

“Alright, alright,” Geoff said hastily as they all entered the car. “Does he know which hospital?”

“Yeah, I told him Seaton,” Gavin said with a slight questioning lilt.

Geoff grimaced but nodded. “Seaton.”

“Ugh, I hate Seaton,” Ryan muttered.

“Preaching to the choir,” Geoff said to him, starting the car.

“But we’ll be in and out, hopefully with just a prescription for rest and abstinence,” Ryan said confidently.

From the backseat, Ray asked, “I have a bottle of water, should I–?”

Next to him, Ryan started nodding, straining around in his seat to look at Ray. “That’s a good idea, Ray. Michael? Michael, buddy? Ray, is he even awake?”

“Not really,” Ray said. Geoff heard him unscrew the bottle cap and glanced periodically into the rearview mirror to watch as Ray tilted a small amount of water into Michael’s lax mouth. “Swallow, idiot, or else you’ll feel even worse tomorrow.”

“Is he conscious at all?” Ryan asked, frowning.

Ray’s eyes flashed. “I dunno, but he’s fucking freezing.”

Geoff turned on the heat. “Did anyone else drink past their limit tonight?” he demanded, knuckles white across the curve of the steering wheel. They were still parked, with the commotion of the party still audible through the walls of the vehicle. Anger, brittle and shocking, was hot in his chest.

There were quiet murmurs of ‘no’ as Geoff pulled out of the driveway.

“So the Everclear bet,” Ryan coughed in the passenger seat. Even Geoff could feel Gavin’s glare through the leather seats.

“I didn’t have any,” Gavin said, sitting forward in his seat to hover between Geoff and Ryan. “That shite is poison.”

“So what the hell did you bet Michael?”

“Uh, hundred I think? No – two. And a video.”

“Two hundred dollars? That’s not even going to be enough cover the medical cost of checking in,” Geoff said disapprovingly.

“Least we got content, right?” Ray said sarcastically.

“We’re pouring that Everclear down the drain,” Ryan muttered.

“No,” Geoff and Gavin said at the same time.

Ryan scoffed incredulously. “If children can’t refrain from sticking their fingers in daddy’s alcohol drawer, then daddy’s alcohol drawer shouldn’t exist.”

“One, that’s a creepy metaphor,” Geoff said, cheeks warm. “Two, daddy’s alcohol drawer isn’t the issue here, it’s the children. Gavin fucking took it home from the office.”

“Oh, so if it’s outside the office, it isn’t your responsibility?” Ryan challenged. Gavin practically sank into the backseat, disappearing from view and sending Ray an ‘oh shit’ expression, sealing his lips shut.

“Everyone at the company is a grown up,” Geoff gritted out. “They – _you_ are the responsibility I have during the day, while we’re working. So, yeah, during work hours you’re my responsibility. At fucking company parties that I’m not even attending, I shouldn’t be having to lord over you in social situations in which we are not colleagues.”

There was a slightly stunned silence.

Geoff took a deep breath. “Good fucking grief, guys, we’re going to the hospital right now. The _hospital_. I’m taking us – I’m taking _Michael_ to the hospital. And in a few days, we’re going to be back at the office talking into mics and recording new shows.”

“Please,” Gavin snorted. “Don’t get philosophical, Geoff, and definitely don’t get preachy. Not about drinking, of all things.”

“I know my limits,” Geoff retorted.

“So does he,” Ray said calmingly. “So do we. We’re not always as brainy as we come off in videos, obviously. Not to sound cliché, but we make mistakes. And to be fair – none of _us_ went to college and got to drink ourselves into oblivion. Maybe Michael wanted that new experience.”

“He drinks like a fish,” Gavin added.

“Everclear isn’t exactly water,” Geoff said. “Alcohol is for adults who know how alcohol can hurt you.”

“What’re you gonna do, ban him from drinking?” Ryan laughed.

Geoff sighed through his nose as they pulled into the ER lot. “No, but getting his stomach pumped will teach him a lesson better than I ever could.”

\---

“Can they put alcohol restrictions on people?” Gavin asked at the front desk.

Ryan’s eyebrows furrowed. “Unless you’re a public menace, I don’t think they can stop you from drinking. They can order you to attend a certain amount of AA meetings, as a court decision.”

“Well they don’t let you commit suicide,” Gavin said.

“A martini at lunch isn’t jumping off a building,” Ryan pointed out.

“No, but people do drink themselves to death,” Gavin argued.

“Suicide is illegal, not the weapon people use.”

Gavin was quiet and contemplative for a long time. Geoff was busy scribbling contact information on forms. Ray was on Gavin’s phone, calling Burnie and Jack. Michael had been admitted only a few minutes ago. They’d been unable to wake him.

“Geoff’s drinking sometimes gets a little insane,” Gavin finally said, voice low. “I hate bloody hangovers as much as the next alcoholic, but I don’t drink myself into passing out like Geoff – and apparently Michael – does.”

“Geoff and his miraculously durable liver can handle it,” Ryan said, glancing to ensure Geoff wasn’t paying them mind.

Gavin nodded in agreement. “I don’t doubt that. I just – ugh, I guess I just hate knowing the product of drinking too much is _this_.”

“We haven’t even seen anything.”

“The words ‘stomach pumping’ does enough for the mental image,” Gavin said darkly. There was a pause. “I also hate knowing that had Geoff not been there, I probably wouldn’t have brought him here. Would you have?”

Ryan chewed on his lip, thoughtful. “I don’t drink much,” Ryan said honestly. “It’s hard to find the line between needing to sleep it off and needing hospitalization.”

“So… no?”

“No, probably not,” Ryan shrugged. “I had a lot of drunk friends in college. When they ‘passed out’, it was falling asleep on the couch of a fellow student. They’d puked during the night, maybe, but they were still smiling and loud and chatty.”

Gavin sighed. Michael could handle their liquor; they all could, with the exception of Ray. The issue did, in fact, lie in the type of alcohol and the speed consumed – things Gavin himself directly had a hand in. He’d brought the Everclear with the intention in mind. Maybe not this result, specifically, but he had wanted Michael to drink it straight. That had been the bet.

He might as well have asked Michael to pump his stomach for two hundred dollars and a damn iPhone video.

\---

The change from the car to the hospital was dramatic.

Michael’s memory began to get hazy at the party, but even in the car he could recall the soft strokes of someone’s hand against his neck, his face. The gentle drum of someone’s fingers on his nose and cheekbones. Soft puffs of breath in his hair.

Then the warm, hazy darkness was blasted away by harsh florescent lights, loud voices, and aggressive handling. In place of pats, there were sharp, staccato slaps against his cheeks – meant to rouse him instead of comfort. They wanted him awake, aware. Two things Michael resisted heartily.

They admitted him immediately. After he was wrestled into a rolling bed, they sailed down hallways and hallways until arriving and stopping in a sectioned-off hospital room. Through foggy, unfocused eyes, Michael saw there was a tray of medical equipment sitting next to him, along with a large funnel and bin.

“Mr. Jones?” a female voice occasionally called to him. “Michael?”

Someone pried apart his lips and teeth, making room for a tube to be slotted into his mouth. They fed it further and further down. Michael’s throat was still blessedly numb – along with half of his nerves – but he squirmed. Iron-tight hands pinned him to the reclined chair and held his neck straight for the tube to feed directly into his stomach.

Words were passed around above his head – medical jargon Michael didn’t get. It wasn’t until something was scraping down his nasal passages that Michael cared. Somewhere under the mental haze and BAC in his blood that could down a bodybuilder, Michael understood that they were keeping his airways clear. The knowledge didn’t alleviate the pain of the inside of his nose as the delicate skin was rubbed raw until the tube finally settled where the hell it was supposed to go. Somewhere deep in his small intestine, probably. Those two systems had to be connected someway, right?

“Try to keep awake, Michael,” a voice warned him before the gentle sound of running water started.

\---

Gavin didn’t know why he elected to watch, but after striking a deal with a nurse who recognized them, he was given a ‘banana bag’ and a front row seat to Michael’s stomach pumping.

It was traumatizing. And fascinating.

There were only three medical persons working on Michael, but they were very busy. Still recovering from his own alcohol consumption, Gavin couldn’t focus on them. All he could think about was the fact that they weren’t allowing him to hold Michael’s hand.

He could see the slight distension where the tube traveled down Michael’s throat. It was thicker than the one that went into his nose. Gavin had no clue the different functions between the two, but the one doctor managing them did. Another doctor worked on inserting a needle into the crook of Michael’s arm.

“Having trouble here,” the doctor said with annoyance when his coworkers jostled Michael, trying to force him to swallow around the tube. “His veins are hay, I can barely stick him as it is.”

“You said you wanted to do the IV,” the third doctor replied icily. “And me and Banks would take care of the tube.”

“Who’s doing the catheter?” the first doctor asked.

There was a pause before the IV man sighed. “I’ll do it. Just stop moving him around so much, I can’t get a good line.”

Gavin looked down at his own inserted IV. The doctor had found and stuck his vein in seconds before taping it down. From what he could see, each time the needle went into Michael’s skin, a dark bruise would balloon under his skin, but no liquid would enter the collapsed vein.

Geoff, Jack, Ryan, and Ray slid into the room after Michael’s IV bag was set up. No one else had been drinking, so no ‘banana bags’ for them, and if Gavin had to guess, someone had described what they’d see back here, because none seem shocked by the sight of a very weak Michael having a tube shoved down his esophagus. Michael had begun to fight the tube once it’d reached his stomach.

“I recognize that,” Geoff said with some amount of wry humor as he sat next to Gavin, eyeing Gavin’s faintly yellow IV. The others conversed quietly, with stress. “Not a widely recommended treatment for a hangover, but–”

“Sir?” one of the nurses said pointedly. “I’m sorry, but are you good friends with this man?”

“Uh – yeah?”

“I’d ask him,” she said, nodding at Gavin, “but he’s been dozing since you arrived. Can you stand next to me and hold Michael’s hand? I know it must be a strange request, but drunk people often regress to something like toddlers and he’s been grabbing at my gown for the past half-hour.”

There was a pause.

“I mean, any of you four could do it–”

“No, I can,” Geoff coughed, stepping forward. “I can do it.”

The nurse appeared disturbed by the hesitation, clearly pondering their relationship as Geoff squeezed in next to her and the water machine. They’d turned it on to warm up the fluids moments ago. Gavin wasn’t sure he wanted to be present for the next part.

“He’s gonna puke that up, right?” Ray said, asking the question Gavin’s been chewing over.

“No, the big tube is to suck it back out,” one of the male nurses answered. He tapped Michael’s cheek to rouse him, but Michael’s eyes barely fluttered. “The nasal tube is to make sure nothing gets in his airways or lungs, but the big tube sucks out the stomach contents that are poisoning him.”

“And then we flush the area with warm salt water,” another nurse added.

“And he’s doing all right?” Ray said hopefully.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine,” the male nurse scoffed. “He’ll wake up tomorrow morning a contender for world’s worst hangover, but he’ll be coherent and slightly dehydrated.”

“Goddamn,” Geoff cursed quietly, wincing. “Michael – Christ, his death grip is going to break my fingers.”

“Ever had your stomach pumped?” the IV doctor said wryly.

“Yeah, actually,” Geoff said. “Which is why I’m trying to ignore the pain.”

“Good man,” the doctor answered. “Starting suction.”

\---

Michael didn’t dream, but he had a feeling that if he had, it’d’ve been a simple repeat of the stomach pumping.

The sensation of having your internal fluids sucked out like a soda through a straw was going to stay with him a long, long time. The warm, rushing water cleansing his stomach walls was phantom-present the next morning, when he woke up alone in a hospital room.

Strangely enough, the most uncomfortable thing was the wad of cotton up his left nostril.

Before his brain even came online fully, he was already pulling it out with fumbling fingers. The end that had been in his nose was soaked through with blood, and the minute it was dislodged, a small, warm trail fell down his upper lip.

“Put that back where you found it,” an amused voice said. Michael looked up, blinking through a throbbing pain behind his eyes, and smiled at Ryan. Before Michael could greet him, Ryan was stepping forward, McDonalds bags in hand, and insisting, “I’m serious, put the cotton ball back. It’s really disgusting to watch blood just drool out of your nose. Really unflattering.”

Michael obediently stuffed it back into place. His fingers were sticky with blood. “Why is my nose bleeding?” he questioned, voice dry and creaking with every consonant. Michael frowned. “Why is my _voice_ bleeding?”

Ryan grinned and sat down in one of the visitor chairs. “When you’re dehydrated,” he explained, “your airways dry up. It was hard for the doctors to get a tube all the way down to your stomach.”

“A tube from my nose to my stomach?” Michael said, frowning in confusion.

“Ah – sorry, two tubes,” Ryan clarified, opening one bag and pulling out a burger. Michael’s stomach tightened with a pang of hunger. Habitually, he reached out for the food that he and Ryan often tended to share. Ryan snorted and pulled out of reach.

“You have a catheter and an IV line for fluids,” Ryan said, chuckling around a big bite. “You don’t get a burger. Learn to make better drunk decisions and we can negotiate some fries.”

“If I recall correctly,” Michael started and realized it was a horrible choice of phrase. It was entirely possible he recalled incorrectly. He’d been _smashed_. “Uh – wasn’t it Gavin’s bet?”

Ryan shrugged, but his eyes glittered knowingly. “I’m surprised you remember,” he said, putting the burger down. Michael cocked his head, confused; Ryan sounded annoyed by Michael’s memory of the night.

“The only thing I don’t remember when I get drunk is the dance parties,” Michael responded, laying his head back on the pillows.

“I don’t recall any dance parties,” Ryan said, taking another bite. “A lot of whining, though, before you became confused.”

“I’m confused now,” Michael muttered, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to remember what was teetering at the edge of his mind. His eyes popped open, face crumpling. “I got my stomach pumped.”

Ryan’s face was blank. “Yep.”

Michael shivered, but the feelings and memories were quick to fade as he stared up at the ceiling. Ryan ate peacefully next to him, content with the silence as Michael waded through his mind.

“An Achievement Hunter hospital trip?” Michael eventually croaked out. Ryan cracked a grin at that, and for the first time since waking, Michael noticed the bags under his cool eyes. His greasy, messy hair. “Why are you still here? If anyone was responsible for me last night or supposed to be waiting lovingly by my bedside, it should be Gavin.”

“You’d be surprised, I’m pretty damn good at waiting lovingly by bedsides,” Ryan said laughingly. “Gavin just sits here on his phone.”

“Gavin’s here?” Michael said, eyebrows raising.

“He was actually the only one to stay,” Ryan admitted. “The rest of us came in this morning. It’s Sunday, we had nothing better to do than checkup on our headcase coworker.”

“ _Gavin_ stayed?” Michael said disbelievingly. “Now I know you’re fucking with me.” He paused. “Unless he was drunk, too?”

“He didn’t get his stomach pumped or anything, just stayed the night,” Ryan said, and his tone was certainly mocking. Like getting his stomach pumped had been the worst scenario possible.

“I’m just glad you didn’t leave me to drown in my own vomit,” Michael blurted and laid his too-heavy head back on the pillow. He kept forcing his neck to crane to look at Ryan. It was making his headache worse.

“I honestly don’t think I have the energy to pick on you right now,” Ryan said, and he sounded honest. His voice dragged gravelly across the floor. “Plus, I think we all felt a little bad after watching them insert a catheter. And then we felt bad about watching.”

Something unfurled, hard-edged and regretful, in the pit of his heart. His cheeks pinked at the embarrassing mental image, but hell, he’d been asleep. “Eh – if I wasn’t awake for it, didn’t happen in my eyes.”

There was a comfortable silence as Michael mulled over his thoughts. He drained energy by the second, eyes becoming increasingly heavy.

“You were actually really sick,” Ryan said, voice light. It was that strange, very Ryan-like way of saying ‘This is serious but I don’t want to corner you’.

Michael was abruptly glad that Geoff wasn’t there.

“You’re saying that out loud,” Ryan said in an even lighter voice, keeping his eyes on his phone as he tapped out a text. Michael bit his tongue and knew the babble oozing from his mouth was the result of exhaustion. “Geoff will be here soon, by the way, to corner you with serious talk.”

Michael hid his grimace with a one-sided shrug. “He can do his worst,” he said nonchalantly, not knowing why the prospect of Geoff lecturing him was so daunting.

Ryan locked his phone, text sent, and smirked up at him. “He’ll definitely try.”

**Author's Note:**

> technically this is part of Ribs!verse, i suppose, but it's not at all relevant. Takes place before any of the other parts.
> 
> [read more here](http://www.spiderjockey.tumblr.com/fics) if you liked this because god knows this is all i write, pure self-indulgent Michael h/c and overly complicated plotlines


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